The Devil's Workshop
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Hookman missing scene: Dean. In church. For an hour. Sam's already cringing.


**The Devil's Workshop**  
K Hanna Korossy**  
**

Jessica's family had once come to visit her at school and spent the afternoon in the apartment she shared with Sam. Her sister's son had been three at the time, restless and full of energy and picking up everything he saw. Sam had worn himself out keeping the little guy busy and out of trouble.

Sometimes Dean gave him the same feeling.

The humming had started again, and Sam closed his eyes, began counting to ten in Latin. He made it to four. "Stop it," he murmured out of one side of his mouth.

Dean blinked, giving him his most innocent _I'm not doing anything_ look, all wide green eyes.

"I don't think 'Sympathy for the Devil' is the most appropriate thing to sing in church," Sam whispered back. "And this isn't so bad that you need something to relax you."

Now he got the _says you_ look. Sam lifted his chin and ignored it.

Fidgeting was next, worse than when Dean had gotten a rear full of buckshot. By the second time his _older _brother's elbow bumped him, Sam grit his teeth and reached down to the shelf of the pew before them, feeling around for something, anything, to keep Dean busy. He pulled out a hymnal and thrust it at Dean, a desperate offer of distraction to a petulant kid. Then Sam crossed his arms and made a show of being the adult and paying attention while Dean gamely started flipping pages beside him.

Okay, so the Reverend Sorenson's service wasn't the most interesting thing he'd ever experienced. They were only there to meet the reverend's daughter and find out what had killed her boyfriend the other night. On the rare occasions they had gone to church, Sam tended to favor the Baptists for sheer enthusiasm and liveliness. Even Dean got into their music sometimes. Jess had preferred…

Sam's eyes stung briefly. He wasn't going there. Not now.

Dean seemed to be reading the hymnal with interest. Sam let curiosity distract him from old grief and kept an eye on his brother in his peripheral vision. Dean often needed more watching in innocuous situations than on hunts. But his brother remained absorbed in the book, and Sam's shoulders slowly relaxed. Maybe Dean was finally settling down.

A snort from beside him made him sigh. The hymnal was shoved under his nose, Dean pointing to a line of a hymn. "'Bosom,'" he murmured, and chuckled. "I guess those old saints were—"

"Shut up," Sam gritted back. Forget grief; he was starting to think fratricide.

The middle-aged lady two pews in front of them turned back to look at them disapprovingly. Sam gave her a pained, apologetic smile, and her eyes narrowed at him, then slid over to Dean. The annoyance eased, and she turned to face forward again. Sam's jaw went slack.

Dean was grinning smugly at him.

Oh, Lord, the old biddy had fallen for that smile? If only she'd known how many police officers, young women, and hustling marks had been played by that same charm. Sam groaned silently and shook his head.

Dean went back to his serious perusal of the hymnbook. When he started chortling again, Sam just kicked him.

But when he was bored, Dean had a shorter attention span than a ferret, and his knees and arm and hip started knocking into Sam's side once more. Unbelievable. Sam stared up at the cross in the front of the church in silent petition. This was the guy who could sit motionless for hours waiting for a spirit to show up, but make him wait for anything else remotely civilized, and he turned into a four-year-old. On a sugar-rush.

Of course, Dean as a four-year-old had seen his mother killed and had his life turned upside down. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean took every advantage to be a kid now because, as a child, he'd never had the chance.

Relenting a little, Sam pulled the bulletin from his jacket and fished out a pen, holding them up without even a look. They were plucked from his hand quickly enough, and he almost smiled. Dean could drive him crazy, but he still was fond of the guy. Go figure.

The offering plate was being passed around now, the usher eyeing them uncertainly before handing the plate to Sam. He, in turn, watched Dean carefully as he passed the plate on, making sure his brother didn't help lighten the church's load. Dean could do it, too, without the usher seeing a thing. To Sam's surprise, however, Dean distractedly pulled a five from his wallet and dropped it into the plate, then passed it on unmolested.

Sam stared at him.

Dean noticed, and frowned back. "What? You expect me to rip off God? Dude, I'm not crazy."

Just when he thought he couldn't be surprised anymore. Sam shook his head, returned his attention to the service. The sermon was about to start.

Dean kept working, the pen a quiet scratch against the paper and the hymnbook he was using like a clipboard. Sam found himself oddly distracted by the sound and was tempted to look over, but he kept his eyes on Reverend Sorenson. And, sometimes, the girl sitting in the first pew. Laurie, probably. She was sweet in a wholesome, preacher's kid kind of way, but Murph was right, she was hot, too. Sam was a little surprised Dean wasn't also checking her out. Apparently, even he had his standards for church.

The back of a hand nudged his wrist, and Sam looked down at the bulletin Dean tilted toward him. The back was decorated with a series of stick figures…and Sam felt his face grow hot as he realized what the figures were doing. He gave Dean an appalled look, getting a _butter wouldn't melt in my mouth_ one in return, and grabbed the bulletin, cramming it into his jacket pocket.

"Oh, my God, Dean, you're impossible!" he hissed in a stage whisper.

"Shouldn't say 'God' in here unless you mean it, Sammy."

"I do mean it!"

The woman in front of them looked back again, giving Sam a withering look that would have done any grammar teacher proud, then offering Dean a look of mute sympathy. _What you have to put up with!_

Dean shrugged back philosophically. _Little brothers—what can you do?_

Sam thought he might choke. Or might choke Dean. It was a toss-up. Better yet, he could show Dean's artwork to the pillar of righteous indignation in front of them; Sam suspected that might change her tune fast. But he was apparently the adult here, so he just sat stiffly and stewed in furious silence.

Dean seemed to sense he'd reached some sort of limit because he quieted down. The reading began, and he pulled a Bible out from under the pew to follow along. He even mutely offered to share, withdrawing, unoffended, both offer and book when Sam stared daggers at him. The reading was something out of Isaiah, and Sam paid scarce attention, caring now only about getting through this torture and out of there.

Dean quietly _huh_-d next to him, and before Sam could do more than lift a hand to push him away, his brother had dipped into Sam's jacket for the pen. While Sam watched with suspicion, Dean glanced around, then quickly tore the last page out of the Bible. Utterly missing—or ignoring—Sam's look of shock, he started to jot notes on it in his strong block print.

Sam sighed—again—and tried to pay attention to the message.

Thank God it was more a homily than a full sermon, and before he knew it, they were on the final prayer. Dean also ignored that, bent over his notes. Sam jabbed him to rise for the benediction. The girl in front he'd decided was Laurie was watching him again, and Sam felt an odd stir inside.

Dean snapped the Bible shut and folded the page of notes in half before he put it away. The pen he held out to Sam, who tore his eyes away from Laurie to take it. "Have fun?" he asked dryly.

"Maybe." A lift of the shoulders. "I think I figured out another way you can bring a golem down." Dean flashed him a grin. "Some good stuff in there. We should go to church more often."

Sam's fist curled on empty air.

People started streaming out of the building, the lady in front of them stopping to warmly welcome Dean and give Sam a frosty look. He barely made his smile civil, just shoved Dean outside ahead of him.

They found Laurie and introduced themselves, Sam not needing to fake his sympathy. The reverend came along, and she presented them to her father.

Dean held out his hand, his voice serious and respectful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon." Back to business.

Sam spluttered inside but kept his face blank. Dean looked sincere. The Winchesters were good actors, and the reverend and his daughter looked convinced. Mission accomplished.

That evening, Sam picked up a G.I. Joe coloring book and a box of crayons for his brother from the local drugstore. Dean could always swipe the Gideon's Bible in the nightstand if he was feeling that pious.

Dean, unfortunately, loved his gifts. Every picture was colored in by the time they left Iowa, all but the weapons done in rebellious, wrong, _Dean_ shades.

And Sam, secretly, even kept a few.

**The End**


End file.
